Convictions
by Laura Schiller
Summary: 1945. Germany confronts the leader who ruined him. Warning: Holocaust references.


Convictions

By Laura Schiller

Based on _Hetalia: Axis Powers_

Copyright: Hidekaz Himaruya

1945

The bunker was locked and guarded, but since it was on German soil, that didn't make a difference. Ludwig materialized inside the main office from one moment to the next.

Chancellor Adolf Hitler, crouched over a map at his desk, looked up sharply. His famous mustache was ragged, his uniform crumpled. The smell of alcohol filled the room.

"So there you are. I was wondering when you'd show up."

Statesmen had the right to address their nations informally, but coming from this man, it stung. Ludwig ignored it. He could not, however, ignore the pistol his leader had whipped out and was aiming at him.

"Go ahead." Ludwig raised his arms mockingly. "You've already done your best to kill me. A physical bullet might finally finish the job."

It was true; coming back to his own country had felt like death. While he was gone, the war had taken its toll. Wounds had opened up, some scarred over, others still bleeding underneath his uniform. His lungs were clogged with the smoke of his burning cities. He was hungry, filthy, exhausted, and jumped at sudden noises. He was always listening for fighter planes overhead, and when he heard them, he had to fight the instinct to crawl into a hole and stay there.

Hitler didn't seem to notice. His hand didn't waver as he held the gun.

"You disappoint me, Beilschmidt. You and the people both. If you'd fought harder, if you'd truly supported me, we'd have won the war by now."

For one sickening moment, Ludwig wondered if the chancellor had a point. After all, he'd spent most of the war on deserted beaches with Kiku and Feliciano, in no danger except for the occasional playful ambush from the Allies. He'd dismissed the visions of torture in his sleep as ordinary nightmares, and avoided setting foot on his own soil for reasons he wouldn't admit to himself. It had been Gilbert's job to oversee the home front. He'd been so eager for it.

Gilbert was the reason Ludwig had come here in the first place. It had been too long since his brother's last communication.

"Where is Prussia? I can't sense him anywhere within our borders."

"That fool." Hitler rolled his eyes. "I sent him to Russia. Last I heard, he was enjoying the hospitality of your colleague in the north."

Cold sweat broke out along Ludwig's spine. Hitler and Stalin had signed a formal nonaggression pact in 1939. The German invasion of Russia had been an outright stab in the back. Ivan always took things personally. Knowing him, he was exacting a personal revenge.

Was there anything Ludwig could have done to prevent this?

He looked down at the wild-eyed man holding him at gunpoint, and remembered their first meeting. Hitler had been extensively debriefed in advance, of course, but still, he hadn't seemed surprised. In hindsight, that should have been Ludwig's warning. Any sane person would have been shocked to find their nation staring them in the face. Hitler, instead, had seemed to take it all as merely his due.

/

 _1933_

" _Gentlemen, I'm honored." The newly inaugurated chancellor burst into his office with his hands outstretched. "More than words can express."_

 _He clicked his heels and saluted. Ludwig and Gilbert returned the gesture._

" _The honor's all mine, sir," said Gilbert, holding out his hand. "I'm a huge fan. I listen to all your speeches."_

" _I look forward to working with you," said Ludwig, more calmly._

 _Truth be told, he had mixed feelings about the man, probably because he hadn't been elected with a full majority. There was an aggressive streak to him that made Ludwig wary. But when Hitler shook hands with him, and smiled up at him with such open affection, it was difficult not to like him. He radiated hope, and hope was something Germany and Prussia needed. The last decade had left them so dreadfully tired._

" _I like your faces," said Hitler. "Excellent bone structure. I'd like to paint you. But my God, you're skinny." He patted Ludwig's hand in an almost fatherly manner. "How did that happen?"_

" _We've been on a rather strict diet since 1918," said Gilbert, with a twisted smile. "The Treaty of Versailles. You might have heard of it."_

" _I knew it," Hitler muttered, as if to himself. "I_ knew _that wouldn't end well." He looked up at them and made a sympathetic noise through his teeth. "In that case, I shall consider it my sacred duty to restore you both to health."_

 _He linked arms with them both and began towing them along into the corridor, like debris in the wake of a small tornado. "Come on, let's see if we can find a decent cup of coffee in this maze. I have some ideas about how to feed you up. How does arms manufacturing sound to you?"_

" _Sounds tasty," said Gilbert, and the three of them laughed._

/

Ludwig recalled himself to the present with a jolt of fury. He knocked the gun out of Hitler's hand, sending it clattering across the floor.

"You disappointed _us,_ Herr Reichskanzler." He used his full height to loom over the desk, looking the smaller man full in the face. "Support you? We worshiped you. We would have set the world on fire for you, selfish, vindictive idiots that we were. And how did you repay us? Do you know the first thing I smelled when I got back here?"

"What does that have to - "

"Ashes," said Ludwig. "From your death camps."

He wasn't expecting any show of remorse, and he got none. Hitler jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair.

"So what? The Jews are vermin! If you had rats in the house, would you hesitate to poison them?"

"I used to agree with you," said Ludwig, "But they were our people. _My_ people. Look."

He pushed up his sleeve. There was a set of numbers, branded into his flesh, refusing to heal. They burned.

For the first time, something like shock came into Hitler's expression. He stumbled back until he hit the wall.

"You – but – that's not possible," he stuttered. "I never meant … "

"Of course you meant it." For a moment, Ludwig seriously considered shooting the lunatic in front of him. But no – even if he could reach the gun in time, it wasn't worth it.

"You're right, I am to blame," he said instead. "So is Gilbert, and so are our people. But so are you. In a thousand years, we'll never live down the shame of such a leader."

He vanished out of the bunker before Hitler could say a single word.

/

A few hours later, even through all his other injuries, he felt a twinge of pain at his right temple. He knew without being told that his leader had shot himself in the head.

When the Allies tracked him down a few hours later, they found him curled up in the rubble of a bombed-out building, rocking back and forth, tunelessly repeating his national anthem.


End file.
